St. Paul daily globe. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn.) 1884-1896, 1887-12-11
Au Carmel CONNIE ct jugement
Dieu seul ct moi.


They strike through the stiffness upon
ones consciousness like text of half
comprehended truth. Dieu Seul ct mol
There is a ring of awful sOlemnity about
that. This is where the Carmelite
comes to get her pitiful sight of some
one she loved in the days before
and these are the bars through
which that loved one strains aching
eyes for the tortured glimpse of the re-
cluse. Through double bars-and then
the tears! mark well and consider, all
you who pass this way" runs printed
text upon the wall; lis there any sor
row like my sOrrOwT'
Yes, we may have speech with one of
the nuns, the sister who lets us in comes
to tell US. This is by grace of the
French lady, who is in high favor in her
church. But not here. So we are con-
Quoted to another little room, where a
circular shelf revolves in the wall for
the admission of necesSarieS to the hos
pital. Behind this stands the nun.
Madame addresses her. We can not.
We have kind of fear as to what we
might say, over conversation being in
the world. We shrink from the posi-
BILE proclamation of the strange stiffness
thrice-mortared gray walls. But mad
anne does not shrink. She addressed
the shelf with a sort of reverential gay
ETY., if there is such thing, and in
QuireS for the health of INA Snur."
Aid in tremulous tones the nun re-
spends that she is very well-Oh, very
well, indeed, and is madame well? How
her voice shakes as they talk in French,
madame turning occasionally to tell us
that the superioress is very i'll; that if
we desire the prayers of the nun we may
have them: that the garden has not been
very successful this year. 1t is a great
license, this of cOnversing with strangers
behind heavy partition, and she must
be very, very mindful not to forget for
an instant that these are not ''favOrite
souls" And she can speak in English?
Yes, but can we?
''Are you happy, ma snur?' l falter.
81 am most happy" comes the answer
in a quiet cadence.
"And when you die, ma s9ur, where
are you buried?" query.
SIN the vault below" she responded,
and l fancy do detect trace of hope
fulnesS in the way she says this.
Do they sell the things they make?
Oh yes, and if we wish to buy some will
be put on the shelf. And presently
box of wax flowers is pushed slowly
around-pansies and camellias and roses,
white and red, exquisitely wrought.
How much? For the roses, five or six
cents apiece; for the pansies, three.
And after getting change for the price
of our souvenirs she is distressed that
we will not take the two or three cop
pers that are due us.
1t IS late in the afternoon when we go
again through the narrow hall to the
door, yet we must have look at the
chapel on the other side. So through
another long passage we follow our
guide, and into the rather empty, dreary
and bare edifice, where candle or two
burns dimly, and we can just make out
the figures of few bead-telling wOr
shippers. As we stand silent sound
a song CA dirge sweeps through the
gloom from somewhere behind the altar
and beyond the movable. 1t sinks and
sweIls in its inexpressible mOurnful-
ness, as waves might beat on desolate
shore. 1t is the call-the cry-the chant
of the Carmelite nuns.